


Simply Love

by Rhysand_vs_Fenrys



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/F, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:07:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21947806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhysand_vs_Fenrys/pseuds/Rhysand_vs_Fenrys
Summary: In a thinly veiled attempt to seduce Cerridwen, Mor takes her lover of three years to day for a date before spending an evening at home. A simple, sweet fic for a simple and sweet love.
Relationships: Cerridwen/Morrigan (ACoTaR)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19





	Simply Love

Cerridwen stirred as the first rays of dawn crept through the curtains of her room.

_ Her _ room… four years on and it still felt strange to think of it that way.

The bedroom was a gift from Rhysand to honor her and Nuala’s sacrifices Under the Mountain (along with a hefty bonus they could never hope to spend). Upon returning, he had asked them what he could ever give them in thanks for keeping him from succumbing in those nearly fifty years of hell.

“We want nothing, High Lord. Just for the world to find peace once more.” Nuala had answered.

“And I would like to spend a night in my own bed,” Cerridwen had offered a slight smile. Under the Mountain the wraiths were Rhysand’s precious secret- meaning they had no place of their own. Instead, they slept on a nest of blankets beneath Rhysand’s massive four-poster bed while he was… away. 

Rhysand had smiled and in a wave of his hand each twin found a shining ribbon tied to their wrist which extended back into the House of Wind, “Go on. You earned it a hundredfold.”

The trail led to a door in the family- not servant’s- wing of the House. Behind it was a large, empty room that would become their foyer. On opposite sides of the room were twin sets of doors that led to spacious bedrooms, each with a private bath and wardrobe.

Their old chambers were fine enough for two maids- just a small room that held a single set of drawers between two narrow beds. It was clean, warm, and free of pests. These rooms were bright, rich, and blessed with a stunning view of Velaris below.

Initially it was hard to even consider sleeping in a room so far from her twin, but now Cerridwen was glad for it, especially as she opened her eyes. It was three years since they’d begun their secret affair (and two months since Cerridwen held Mor’s hand as she came out to the Inner Circle), yet the wraith’s heart still raced at the sight of the golden-haired beauty beside her.

“You smell like Rita’s,” Cerridwen murmured as she kissed the back of the female’s head.

“Because I was there all night,” Mor murmured into her pillow.

On a hunch, Cerridwen pulled back the plush pink comforter and glanced at Mor’s body. A tight green dress was twisted sideways, and the fabric around the zipper was puckered and torn. Cerridwen rolled her eyes and undid a small clasp above the zipper, then pulled it down.

Mor made a rather undignified sound as her skin-tight clothing slackened at long last and cool air kissed her skin. “I’m free,” she murmured as her breasts found a way out of the dress. Angry red marks covered her body from where seams had dug into her skin.

“You are thin enough,” Cerridwen said as she kissed the seam-marks. “You don’t have to buy dresses two sizes small.”

“They make my tits look great though,” Mor grumbled. She helped Cerridwen remove the dress entirely before flinging it to the far side of the room. In short order her undergarments followed. “Ohh, that feels better.” Mor rolled onto her back and stretched.

“Why do I love you?” Cerridwen kissed her lips before climbing out of bed to start her day.

“Bad taste and low standards.”

“Yeah, probably.”

Mor squeaked in indignation and pulled the pillow from beneath her own head to throw at her lover. 

It missed Cerridwen by about half a room, “Are you still drunk?”

“Yeah, probably,” eyes still closed, Mor stuck her tongue out.

“And how much did you eat while you were out drinking all night?” Cerridwen opened her closet door and stared at her monochromatic wardrobe.

“Less than I should have,  _ mother _ . Cassian and I were celebrating, so mostly just cake.”

Cerridwen hesitated as she reached for a dress and frowned, “What were you celebrating?” She knew all of the important dates, and neither Rhys nor Feyre had mentioned anything the day before.

“The five hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the V-A-L,” Mor raised her hand as if to toast.

The V-A-L, ‘Very Adequate Lay’, was Mor and Cassian’s little nickname for their one night together an eternity ago. No matter what horrors came in its wake, the two celebrated it every 5 years or so. Mor had once explained to Cerridwen that every year was too much and every ten too little. Over the centuries they’d tried a few combinations and settled on five. Cerridwen simply forgot this year was that anniversary.

“Hey-” Mor fought her way out of the sheets while Cerridwen pulled her work-dress from the closet. She came up behind the wraith and wrapped her arms around her torso, “You know, dancing with Cassian made me a bit forgetful. Maybe it was better than ‘adequate’ after all. Who knows? Maybe I’ll sleep with him again just to be sure.” 

Cerridwen snorted and reached up to hang her dress on the top of the door before turning around to face her tormentor, “Do you need me to give you a benchmark to score him against? For the sake of a fair comparison, of course.”

Mor pretended to think about it, “Well, my old science tutor did make a big fuss about properly testing theories. I suppose in this case that would be acceptable.”

“Mm-hmm,” Cerridwen cupped Mor’s cheek and smiled at how the golden female leaned into her touch. It was so slight she wasn’t sure Mor even knew that she was doing it. 

Drunk-Mor always thought she was so subtle in her attempts to bed Cerridwen. When the wraith leaned in close she tipped back her head and parted her lips, ready for a deep, passionate kiss. What she got instead was a whisper against her ear, “Why would I kiss someone with morning breath that bad?”

Once again Mor expressed her outrage in squeak-form as Cerridwen lightly stepped around her and pulled the work-dress off its hook. Nothing stopped her from dropping her sleeping gown, but the moment Cerridwen attempted to don her work clothes she felt Mor’s power wrap around her wrists and try in vain to prevent her from pulling it on. Her lover merely chuckled and unleashed her own dark power.

The magic of the living was something bright and shining, whereas the power of the dead came from something more primal. Mor’s bonds slid across Cerridwen like oil over water. 

“Tell Feyre you’re sick,” Mor stomped over to the bed to pout. “There’s a flu going through Velaris right now.”

“So Nuala should have to work a double-shift?”

Rhysand and Feyre had poured more housekeeping wards into their estate than any other home in Prythian. Even with their usual cooking and mending, there wasn’t enough work to justify having both wraiths work in any given day. They’d taken to alternating their schedules- one reporting to Rhys and Feyre’s home, the other to Azriel for what Nuala called ‘The fun work’.

As a courtesy, Cerridwen pretended she didn’t know her sister was carrying on an affair with the spymaster.

“Rhys and Feyre will enjoy eating out for the day.” Mor’s eyes sparkled and Cerridwen rolled her eyes early in anticipation of what would inevitably follow, “And I know I would have just as much fun eating  _ you _ out for a whole day.”

“You’re a romantic drunk, aren’t you?” Cerridwen made a face as she pulled her linen dress on and sat down at the vanity.

“You bet your perky little tits I am,” Mor threw herself on the bed to pout as Cerridwen braided her hair and finished getting ready.

Outside the sky was pitch-black without even a hint of sunrise in the east. Summer was well and truly upon them, complete with hot days and warm nights. A wide glass tube hung from just outside the temperature shield on Cerridwen’s window. Bubbles of differently colored chemicals floated inside, telling the wraith precisely what the temperature was at any given moment. If the pre-dawn reading was any indication, it was going to be a warm day.

“Do you want me to tuck you in?” Cerridwen called over to Mor. She didn’t hear a response and turned. Curled up in the blankets of her lover’s bed, Mor’s eyes were still open, but for how long? Cerridwen laughed, “You’re too tired even for a quickie.”

She crossed the room to roll Mor onto her side. The golden one pouted, “I’m fine, just put yourself on my mouth. It’s only my eyes that are tired.”

“So you can fall asleep eating breakfast?”  Cerridwen said. She pulled the far side of the comforter over the bed to wrap Mor’s naked body in blankets. She looked up at Cerridwen, but made no move to push the blankets aside, “I’ll see you tonight, love.”

“Goodnight,” Mor muttered as Cerridwen kissed her forehead. Despite her earlier words, she hesitated to leave Mor’s side. Cerridwen brushed a few strands of golden hair from her cheek. She leaned in again and Mor opened her mouth for a gentle, soft kiss. She smiled, then gave Cerridwen a light shove, “You’re the one who doesn’t want to be late.”

“I’m starting to rethink that.”

“Get out, I need my beauty rest,” Mor rolled away to sleep on her other side, though she still reached back to squeeze Cerridwen’s breast through the fabric of her work dress. “That’ll hold me for a bit.”

Cerridwen laughed and reached around to do the same to Mor, “You’re right, just the fix I was looking for.”

“No fair,” Mor whined as Cerridwen stood, “you got to touch skin.”

“You can touch as much as you want later.” Cerridwen put out the faelights in the room and cast one last look at the beauty in her bed before vanishing. It was time to begin her work.

\---

* * *

\---

Cerridwen hummed to herself as she hung Rhysand and Feyre’s freshly cleaned clothes in the drying room. A brazier heated the space, and as the clothing dried she would add scoops of water to a pan above the coals. Steam helped ease any wrinkles, and the chemicals she mixed into the water (provided by Azriel) would alert her to any toxic substances.

Once upon a time the twins handled washing and cooking as part of their regular chores, but after their training by Azriel they took on more of an oversight role in the High Lord’s household. Nuala had a knack for sniffing out spies among the staff, and Cerridwen could sense poison in even the smallest of quantities.

Rhysand and Feyre didn’t need to know how many attempts had been made on their lives already, or how many times Cerridwen’s steam concoction had revealed body-activated acids soaked into their ‘clean’ clothing.

Azriel handled the interrogations of their suppliers and cleaning staff whenever something was discovered. The guilty party was never seen again.

She finished her work and scooped water over the coals before hurrying out of the hot room. In ten minutes she would return for her inspection, and the laundress would either go on her merry way or pay a little visit to Azriel.

Cerridwen spent her time on an inspection of the estate. The floor cleaners were working on the bedrooms around mid-day, and she double-checked that the beds were neatly made and towels had been replaced. The laundry Cerridwen had hung below was their last batch, and soon enough the maids would begin dusting.

It was a large house to supervise, but Cerridwen enjoyed the challenge. She and Nuala used to grow bored in Velaris- mostly because no one in the outside world knew of the city to bother sneaking spies into. Now that the borders were open it held all the intrigue and excitement she could want.

A trip back by the steam room confirmed that no one was trying to kill Rhysand and Feyre that day, and Cerridwen arrived in the kitchen in perfect time to begin preparing lunch. 

The wraith had yet to see Night’s High Lady. Feyre had an early-morning meeting with the heads of Velaris’ educational institutions about improving their curriculum in the arts. The fact that the meeting was running so long did not bode well for her proposed initiative.

When Cerridwen heard a clap of thunder behind her, she put a kettle on to boil and asked, “Extra strong?”

“Extra  _ extra _ strong,” Feyre groaned as she slumped into a stool beside the kitchen island. “I understand Rhys’ desire to mist the whole Court more every day.”

Cerridwen smiled but said nothing as she pulled out a tray filled with dozens of small, neatly labeled jars and began to craft a tea to suit Feyre’s needs. If the High Lady needed to rant, she was always free to do so. If she didn’t want to relive the meeting, she wouldn’t have to. By now Feyre knew well that the twins were always there if she wished for a friend. Cerridwen was not ignoring her, she was giving her space.

“The designated ‘safe zone’ is the north tower of the House of Wind,” Feyre said as the half-wraith handed her a mesh bag of the dry tea leaves for approval. Her fantasy of destroying the Court included a place where the favored might gather to survive. Reminding Cerridwen of its location was a sign of fondness.

“Lunch will be mansaf,” Cerridwen said as she pulled a skillet from its hook near the wall. The lamb dish was one of Illyria’s signature dishes, meaning a favorite of Rhys and Feyre’s. 

“Cauldron bless every single hair on your head,” Feyre sighed appreciatively. “Rhys and I are visiting the mortal lands after lunch, checking in on how the rebuilding is going. We’ll have dinner with Lucien, Vassa, and Jurian, so if you want to leave early you are welcome to an afternoon off.”

“Cauldron bless every single hair on  _ your _ head,” Cerridwen smiled.

Feyre was still learning the inner workings of her Court. She had no idea that her presence- or absence- had little to no impact on the twins’ daily chores.

The High Lady enjoyed her tea as Cerridwen quickly melted butter and fetched a tray of cubed lamb from the chilling box. She browned the meat before pouring water into the pan, covering it with a lid, and leaving it to simmer.

“Shall I set out clothes for your trip?” Cerridwen asked. She had an hour to do chores while the food cooked.

“I can figure it out,” Feyre smiled. She picked up her mug and headed out of the room with a wave, “I’ll be at my desk if you need me.”

Cerridwen enjoyed spending time with the High Lady. Feyre was a breath of fresh air in Velaris, a welcome disruption to over three hundred years of routine. Still, with her gone and the food simmering, there was spare time to do her favorite work.

Beside the door was a locked cabinet, warded against curious or malicious eyes by Azriel and Rhysand themselves. Cerridwen stroked the door with a finger and listened for the soft ‘ _ click _ ’ that meant access had been granted.

Before opening the door she said simply, “Hy-Brasil.”

When she did pull the cabinet open, a tall stack of papers was waiting for her. It was nearly a foot tall, most of that loose-leaf pages sitting atop three black ledgers and two leather-bound notebooks.

Cerridwen ferried everything to the countertop where Feyre had been seated and began sorting through the pages. 

The official job description for the wife of a High Lord was to manage and maintain his properties. While Rhysand was a bachelor, that task fell on Nuala and Cerridwen for the most part- with occasional input and assistance from Rhys. Honestly, it was Cerridwen’s favorite part of her job- stressful as it could be at times.

One ledger contained the official accounts for the High Lord’s palace in Hy-Brasil- a fairly obscure port city near the border with Day. Another- marked with a red silk ribbon through the spine- was a secret clone of the palace steward’s personal books. The man had served as steward for nearly four hundred years and had no idea that when he wrote in his ledger the text would appear somewhere else. 

The third ledger was for Cerridwen and Azriel’s use- where she monitored discrepancies between the official and private records. 

The notebooks contained her own personal monitor of what goods came and went from the small castle. As for the mountain of loose papers- weekly reports from those maids she and Nuala had deemed worthy spies. The highest of the high servants and others as low as the boy who carted away the refuse from the kitchens. 

Cerridwen kept an eye on the clock as she worked through the three ledgers, marking that a few coppers tended to disappear between the formal accounts and private. On its own it could be chalked up to a simple counting error, but over four hundred years those discrepancies were beginning to paint a picture of a small fortune.

If the missing money went to the steward, Azriel would have chopped off the male’s thumbs and branded him a thief long ago. No, to find the purpose of the stolen coin one had to look at the volume of scrubbing materials requested by the laundresses and the fact that the slops-boy rarely took more than bone and vegetable stems from the kitchens.

Food was being stretched as far as it could go, and the maids were scouring more clothes than those of a steward’s household.

He was using the palace- which Rhys had visited only once- as a childcare center for the families of sailors deployed from the port. The smallest younglings were free to play in safety, older ones could learn a skill, and the steward was reported to have arranged education for the children of the most destitute. When Rhysand visited the children had to be kept hidden- such a use for a palace was forbidden without the High Lord’s consent- but Rhysand had been briefed on the issue centuries before.

As the Dread Lord of Nightmares he could hardly show his benevolent side, but Rhys authorized a gradual increase in funds to Hy-Brasil to make it easier for the steward to keep up his charitable work. Nuala and Cerridwen kept an eye on the ledgers and used their spies to ensure his goals remained just, but he was a secret favorite of the entire Inner Circle.

Hidden in the latest monthly reports, Cerridwen noted a two-percent increase in the sugar inventory and a one percent increase in flour and egg orders. Putting the changes together, she smiled and made a note in her black book that they were likely teaching the children baking skills. 

It would be easy for a crate of spices to ‘accidentally’ be left on the docks and marked as abandoned cargo. Cerridwen made her recommendation in the book for Azriel to consider. The Inner Circle often contributed to the steward’s work, not that he knew.

Hy-Brasil’s documents were easy to work through every month, so by the time Cerridwen returned them to the cabinet, it was time to dice up onion for her dish and begin making the sauce and rice.

After lunch she would do the books for Mag-Mell. Their steward was up to something decidedly more nefarious than forming a daycare or school, and he was notoriously paranoid about his ledger. His personal one would have no discrepancies, but the trick was finding the lies all the same. Azriel had him pegged as more likely to betray Rhysand and Feyre than any other steward- even Kier.

Cerridwen spent half an hour toasting almonds and mixing a spiced sauce to drizzle over the lamb while she mentally prepared to tackle the Mag-Mell books. As much as she loved monitoring the High Palaces and their stewards, and as addicting as this unique brand of logic puzzle could be, at the end of the day it still left her frayed.

She laid out the rice on a large platter and scraped back from the middle to form a well of sorts, into which she laid the lamb and drizzled it with her spiced sauce. Atop everything went the toasted almonds and another drizzle of butter.

It was a heavy lunch, but Rhysand and Feyre wouldn’t exactly be able to eat the mortal food. At least, not to the point where it filled them. Cerridwen planned on leaving a simple shirazi salad of cucumber and tomato in the chilling box for the two to snack on when they returned.

Cerridwen carried the food into the dining room before going to the servant’s hall. On a long bank of silver chains she found the ones marked “Master Bedroom”, “High Lord’s Office”, and “High Lady’s Office” and rang all three. Only a fool actually went looking for the High Lord or Lady when both were in the estate at the same time.

Sometimes Cerridwen thought their mating frenzy would never end.

In all fairness, she and Mor could barely keep their hands off one another and they weren’t even mates- or at least the bond hadn’t snapped into place yet. Cerridwen’s heart ached in such a glorious way when Mor smiled at her, she couldn’t imagine loving her any more or wanting her with any added ferocity. A mating bond might cause them to combust.

The thought nagged at Cerridwen’s mind all afternoon. Even as she poured over the reports from Mag-Mell and tried to find some hint at the steward’s plans, she was distracted by imaginings of how her relationship with Mor could possibly grow more intense. 

That led to ten minutes of the half-wraith staring at her work while picturing the way Mor’s taut stomach fluttered as she came or the feeling of that soft curtain of hair against her chest. 

The taste of Mor’s thighs. 

The scent of her mound.

Eventually Cerridwen was forced to admit defeat. The Mag-Mell books required full and complete focus, and she couldn’t guarantee even an hour at a time. Mor respected Cerridwen’s desire to keep their relationship separate from work, but Cerridwen’s own desire was making it difficult to do the same.

If Mor only knew how she would infect Cerridwen’s mind when she decided to curl up in the half-wraith’s bed that morning…

Cerridwen sighed as she returned the books and notes to the cabinet. She quickly prepared the salad for Rhysand and Feyre’s midnight snack, dismissed the staff for the evening, and folded all laundry. Nuala would do another inspection in her pre-dawn rounds before placing the clothes in their respective drawers.

“Well, you look peppy today,” a female voice teased as Cerridwen stepped out through the servant’s entrance.

“I was distracted all afternoon and didn’t get my work finished,” Cerridwen pouted. 

Leaning against the gate to the back garden was a female with piercing blue eyes and raven-black hair. High cheekbones and full ruby lips marked her as a staggering beauty by any definition- though Cerridwen preferred her un-glamoured form. The moonlight paleness of her skin couldn’t compare with golden-bronze.

“What could possibly distract the great Spymistress of Night?” Mor said as she kicked off from the gate and came to offer her love a kiss.

“Well,” Cerridwen pretended to consider it as she wound her arms around Mor’s hips and pulled her in close, “I woke this morning with a wanton tease in my bed.”

“That sounds like a perfect way to wake up,” Mor leaned in to the embrace to rest her head against Cerridwen’s shoulder.

“Not if you care about productivity.”

Mor smiled in the arms of the wraith, “Would taking you out for dinner be a good way to apologize for that?”

Cerridwen considered her offer. Though she was half-fae, her daily food requirements matched those of a wraith- meaning she ate about one meal a week. She’d only eaten three days before. Eating again could earn an upset stomach that wouldn’t go away for days.

“It’s not my meal time yet,” Cerridwen said at last. “But we can go somewhere if you’re hungry.”

Mor smiled, “I ate already, I knew you’d say no.”

“Well then, what would you like to do? You’re all dressed up,” she stepped back and waved a hand at the glamour. 

Mor had come out to the Inner Circle at long last, and was accepted so wholly and completely by everyone that even Cerridwen shed a few tears. Still, she felt more comfortable walking with Cerridwen in her glamour and the wraith had no desire to push her out of her comfort zone before she was ready.

“Want to be wanton?” Mor said.

“You think I’m really easy, don’t you?” Cerridwen made a face, “Romance me first,” she pouted.

Mor hooked an arm through hers and led her out towards the crowded streets, “I think I know something you’ll like.”

Darkness erupted around them as Mor winnowed Cerridwen across Night. Cerridwen felt the crackle of magic against her skin and suppressed her distaste the same way Mor hid her feelings about the wraith’s version of winnowing. It would leave Cerridwen feeling uncomfortably alive for a few hours, just as Mor felt half-dead after brushing against the veil to travel as spirits did.

“Cauldron boil me- your face!” Mor burst out laughing as the world solidified.

“It feels like my face was boiled, yes,” her eyes were shut tight and her mouth was twisted into a grimace. Cerridwen forced herself to open an eye. 

They were somewhere in Day, judging by the pale tunics males wore, and either underground or inside a building. Vaulted ceilings disappeared into the black, but from long chains hung a sea of glass lanterns in every color of the rainbow.

Fae moved slowly through the halls of the building, staring up at the ornate lanterns. They came in every shape Cerridwen could imagine- some lanterns were long columns, some delicate spheres, with every possible variation. There were those that were made up of a solid sheet of metal with the designs cut out, some crafted from what looked like thousands of pieces of glass, and others designed not to put out light, but simply to be viewed as works of art.

Mor grinned wildly at the look on Cerridwen’s face, “Do you like it?” All she got in response was a happy sound as her lover stared at the twinkling lights above, dumbfounded. The half-wraith was utterly mesmerized. “They’re called spirit-lanterns. The glass or metal is infused with some of the ashes of departed loved ones. Lanterns are hung inside the home in a place of high honor- usually a special room.”

“Then who do these lanterns belong to?” Cerridwen couldn’t look away, but she found her voice at last. They called to her very soul. Hundreds upon hundreds of lanterns of every size, shape, age, and design. Hundreds of souls whispering to anyone who could hear- but none in pain. All happy, caring, and bright.

Mor smiled up at the lights, “This place used to be a temple to a goddess of healing. Her priests and priestesses were the first to make Spirit-Lanterns, so that their souls might consecrate the hall and bring blessings to all who enter. Eventually the goddess’ presence faded from Day. The High Lord ordered her temple be turned into a hall of peace, somewhere fae could walk or meditate to clear their minds.”

Indeed, though there were thousands slowly making their way through the space it was surprisingly quiet. Whispers and murmurs from the living met her ears, but if anything the dead were louder.

The lanterns were beautiful beyond compare, and Mor smiled as she pulled Cerridwen on through the temple. Together they marveled at the intricate designs and basked in the gentle warmth emitted from the souls bound to them. Some of the stronger spirits reached for Cerridwen in friendship and in their whispers she heard bawdy jokes, soft blessings, and the happy sighs of lovers looking down upon the couple.

Cerridwen blushed at radiance of a brilliant blue lantern and brought Mor’s hand to her lips to kiss. When she looked into her companion’s eyes she drew upon a bit of her wraith side and looked through the glamour. She didn’t want to see the black-haired and blue-eyed beauty. She wanted her Golden Nightmare.

They had been together long enough that Cerridwen didn’t expect Mor to release the glamour, not even in Day. She wasn’t ready yet. Cerridwen smiled and released Mor’s hand to cup her cheek. As long as they had one another, she could wait as long as it took for Mor to be truly comfortable in her own skin. The ones they loved the most knew both Mor’s secret and the relationship between her and Cerridwen. That was all that mattered.

“I love you,” Cerridwen said before pressing her lips against Mor’s.

“I love you, too.” Mor closed her eyes for the kiss, but when they opened there was a spark of mischief there, “Have I romanced you enough yet?”

“I’m not that easy,” Cerridwen snorted and pulled Mor back into the slow flow of the crowd.

She pouted, “But I am.”

“It’s easy to love you, but other than that you’re incredibly difficult.”

Mor’s musical laughter cut through every other sound in the room. She slapped a hand over her mouth and winced in apology to the few fae who shot looks in their direction. Feeling brazen in her disguise, she cuddled into Cerridwen’s side and pulled the half-wraith’s arm across her shoulders.

“Hold me, I’m difficult.”

“Do you see anyone selling one of those child leashes?” Cerridwen glanced around and Mor punched her lightly in the ribs.

Cerridwen moved her hand from Mor’s shoulder to her hip and held her comfortably against her side. Mor returned the gesture and together they walked through the temple of lanterns. After a few more rounds of banter they fell silent, basking in the ever-changing glow above them. 

‘ _ A blessing on the happy couple, _ ’ a Spirit-Lantern above them whispered. Cerridwen dutifully paused beneath the gold-and-teal glass, drawing Mor into its light.

She felt something warm settle over them- a calm peace that slowly pushed away any lingering strain from the day. Whether or not Mor could feel the spirit’s blessing was unknown, but the golden one smiled brightly and turned to hold her lover.

The warmth seeped deep into Cerridwen’s bones until it broke against something cold and unyielding. ‘ _ That’s enough, _ ’ she whispered to the spirit above with words Mor could not hear.

‘ _ Do you know what lies inside, child?’ _

‘ _ I do, _ ’ Cerridwen smiled as she lightly traced Mor’s spine. ‘ _ It will stir in its own time.’ _

The spirit made no protest, and slowly Cerridwen pulled Mor away from the lantern’s glow. The golden one stirred as if from a dream and blinked several times before releasing Cerridwen so that they could walk side by side again.

“Where to next?” Mor asked. They rounded a corner and entered the main room of the temple once again- this time from the opposite side. A hall leading out of the building to Day echoed with distant music and laughter.

“Dance with me?”

Cerridwen and Mor turned down the wide hall and followed a steady flow of people around a bend and out onto a red cobblestone avenue lined with cafes. Musicians were stationed sporadically up and down the thoroughfare to lend their melodies to the atmosphere. Wisteria and ivy crawled up the sides of the buildings and filled the street with a heady, earthy aroma. The golden sunset bathed everyone and everything in its warm glow.

Mor tugged Cerridwen’s hand and pulled her over towards a male strumming his lute and singing a cheerful tune in an ancient tongue. He smiled at the two lovers as Cerridwen spun Mor around once and pulled her close to dance with the other couples already gathered. 

No one could have ever guessed the raven haired beauty who danced and laughed among them was the third most powerful female in the Night Court- or that the half-wrath who smiled in her arms was one of Prythian’s best spies. 

Cerridwen kept a web of power in her eyes to see Mor through the glamour and let herself forget about intel reports, poisoned laundry, and the rigors of maintaining Feyre and Rhysand’s households. In her own special way, Mor made Cerridwen turn her back on any and every shadow in her heart. Her golden radiance blinded the half-wraith and the pure light Mor brought into her life flooded through her.

Once again it was Cerridwen who initiated the kiss. She claimed Mor’s lips and moved her hand to the back of the golden one’s head. Mor opened her mouth for her lover and felt the inviting stroke of a tongue against her own.

The music faded away. All Cerridwen could hear- all either of them could hear- was the occasional soft moan of their partner.

“ _ Now. _ ” Cerridwen gasped as she dropped any pretense of dancing. Both of her hands found their way into Mor’s hair, holding her tight.

This time it was Cerridwen who unleashed her power and brought them back to her chambers in the House of Wind. The world melted away as they skirted the veil between life and death. She felt Mor shudder in her arms as the warm sunlight of Day vanished. By the time the mist cleared Mor’s skin was clammy and goosebumps covered her arms.

Cerridwen released Mor’s lips to feather kisses along her jaw. It gave the golden one a chance to catch her breath and find herself again after the wraith’s special version of winnowing. Still, the feeling of Cerridwen pressed against her, the way her mouth brushed against her jaw- the flush was not gone from Mor’s skin for long. She groaned when Cerridwen suddenly nipped at her earlobe before moving on to her neck.

Mor opened her eyes only long enough to check their exact position. The bed was only a few inches behind her, so she held Cerridwen tight and spun them both. Cerridwen paused to laugh as her knee hit the bed, sending them both down onto the mattress. Mor’s body pressed against hers, and a curtain of black hair fell around the pair.

“Take it off,” Cerridwen whispered.

She licked the column of Mor’s throat while the glamoured ring was removed and thrown aside. The curtain of black hair turned into a golden wave. Cerridwen lowered her magic and smiled brightly. Her power let her see through the glamour in Day, but that form of Sight was different. It muted Mor’s radiance.

Mor’s head dipped back down to reclaim Cerridwen’s mouth. Her nails lightly scraped along the wraith’s upper arms in silent command. The arms around her neck and shoulders slackened, allowing Mor to push them down against the blankets. 

With Cerridwen pinned, it was Mor’s turn to press light kisses along her neck and throat. Cerridwen’s breath hitched as she traveled lower- to the top of her dress. The work-dress had a conservative neckline that hid any cleavage.

“Take it off,” Mor threw Cerridwen’s words back at her. She released her wholly and stood, panting. 

Cerridwen removed the dress quickly and deposited it with as much care as Mor had for her glamoured ring. Mor didn’t move to touch her, and so Cerridwen removed her underclothes as well.

As a species, wraith were curious things. A wrath was created by particularly gruesome or violent deaths. Their spirits festered with resentment until they were twisted into something dark and cruel. But even then, they could only be considered ghosts. To make that final transition from spirit to wrath, the wretched being had to commit enough sins that even the veil would never part to admit them.

For such a being to attach itself to a human long enough to reproduce was a rare enough feat, but the children of wraith embodied their dark parentage more than anything else.

Half-dead, yet her ebony skin was flush and warm.

Half-damned, with raw love shining in the dark eyes that met Mor’s.

Half-monster, and yet more beautiful than any other female in all of Prythian.

Logic said the wraith were something to be hunted and destroyed. A terrifying beast that feasted on innocence and light. For a half-wraith to be so loving, gentle, and kind was something Mor could never understand. 

Every fae instinct in her body should have been telling her to run away and never return.

But at the sight of her lying on the bed, it bid Mor to kneel.

Cold stone kissed her knees as Mor slid to the ground. Cerridwen’s legs were draped over the edge of the bed. Mor’s lips brushed the skin of Cerridwen’s thigh. She nipped at the skin, drawing a soft chuckle from the wraith. Her lover reached out and brushed back Mor’s hair to better see her face. The golden one smiled up at her and leaned in closer. She kissed up higher and higher, lightly tracing her nails against Cerridwen’s calves as she zeroed in on the heaven between her legs.

Her first lick was broad, unfocused. Only a hint of Cerridwen’s arousal met her tongue- just the moisture building between her lower lips. Mor’s head tipped forward. She rested her nose just above the split of her entrance and breathed deeply in.

When they first made love, Mor would have compared Cerridwen’s scent to that of a graveyard mist- earthy and tinged with the dry musk of death. Mercifully, Morrigan had made careful study of her lover’s taste and scent alike and now knew it as something similar to morning dew and the sweetness of lilies. Through it all wound something born of ancient woods and moonlit nights. 

Slowly- too slowly- Mor opened her mouth and parted Cerridwen’s lower lips with her tongue. She kissed her with gentle reverence, groaning in approval at the flavor of her arousal and the softness of Cerridwen’s lips against her face.

Cerridwen’s hips moved ever so slightly against Mor as she met the thrust of her tongue. Mor scooped up her legs and rested one over each of her shoulders before reaching up for her lover’s hands. Cerridwen took hers readily, needing as much contact with Mor as she could get. 

The position meant that Mor couldn’t tend to her needs by touch, so she made up for it with tongue.

“Morrigan!” Cerridwen’s cry was a broken plea.

The wraith was wet, and as Mor probed the source of that hypnotic flavor she unleashed all of her pent up hunger. Her nose pressed against Cerridwen’s knot, rocking in time with the movements of her mouth. Her tongue probed and swirled along the edges of her lover’s entrance. 

If she had use of her hands, Mor would have wrapped her arms around Cerridwen’s thighs and pinned her tight against her mouth. As it was, she tightened her grip on her lover and pulled her down, stretching Cerridwen’s arms and making it harder for her to pull away- not that Cerridwen was resisting. Her hips rose higher and higher to take Mor’s tongue as deep as possible.

Mor felt her body tighten and began to alternate between swirling her tongue inside her love and moving up to suck the nub of nerves at the apex of her sex. Cerridwen’s eyes closed tight and she began to shake as she fought back against the glorious sensation between her legs. She lost her own grip on Mor’s hands and clawed at the sheets.

Her back arched and Cerridwen’s gasps became loud moans. Mor clenched her thighs, her body aching with need at the sound of her lover’s pleasure. She wanted to release Cerridwen’s hands so that she could stroke deeper than tongue alone could ever hope to reach, and so that she could find some relief for herself. Cerridwen’s grip was iron though, and she was too close to the edge to release Mor’s hands.

So Morrigan simply closed her eyes and focused on bringing her wraith every bit of pleasure she was capable of.

Cerridwen cried out as her core began to spasm and clench. She came hard and fast on Mor’s tongue. The wraith’s legs wrapped around Mor’s head, pinning her in place as she massaged Cerridwen’s knot with her tongue and claimed as much of Cerridwen’s moisture for herself as she could. 

Once her orgasm had passed, Cerridwen released Mor’s hands and quickly took the golden one’s head in her hands. She pulled Mor up from the floor and claimed her mouth hard and fast. Cerridwen didn’t mind the taste of her own release on Mor’s tongue. She’d long since gotten used to it. 

“Thank you,” Cerridwen’s own rapid breathing forced their kiss to end sooner than she would have liked. She rested her forehead against Mor’s and nuzzled her a moment, then froze, “Stop that.”

Mor’s hand had slid down between them, where her fingers were wetting themselves between Cerridwen’s legs in anticipation.

The golden one pouted, but Cerridwen wasn’t swayed by those burning amber eyes. She pulled Mor up to stand, “Be still.”

Mor froze obediently as Cerridwen circled her on shaking legs. A hand stroked Mor’s throat and swept her hair aside until all of it was draped over a single shoulder. With her back exposed, Cerridwen undid the laces of her dress.

The top slackened and both females let it fall to the floor. Mor wasn’t one for underclothes normally, but she did have thin black lace panties on. Cerridwen bit Mor’s shoulder as she stopped behind her, “You didn’t need to get all dressed up for me.”

Mor didn’t reply as Cerridwen’s hands slid around her torso. The wraith pressed against Mor’s back. Her left hand skimmed Mor’s breasts, tracing ever higher. The left wandered down towards the edge of sinful black lace.

Cerridwen slid her middle finger between Mor’s lower lips, imitating what she’d done to Cerridwen only moments before. The golden one was beyond dripping with need. She was soaked, and even the featherlight touches Cerridwen gave her nearly overwhelmed her control.

A startled gasp was the only sound Mor made when Cerridwen pounced. Two fingers suddenly forced their way into Mor’s core while Cerridwen bit down on her earlobe and wrapped her other hand tight around her lover’s throat.

The first time Mor asked Cerridwen to do such a thing the half-wraith had been anxious and afraid. Now she was well versed in what her love enjoyed. Just enough pressure to force her to go slow and work for each breath, but not enough to cut off oxygen entirely.

Mor’s legs went weak as she sagged against her partner. Cerridwen’s right thumb stroked her knot as she continued to pump her fingers in and out of Mor’s needy entrance. The strength of a wraith was nothing to be laughed at, and Cerridwen held her up easily by throat and hand in tandem.

For Mor it was heaven itself. She wanted- more than anything- to give into the pleasure and let it ravage her, but the hand on her throat kept her in check. She had to resist her own needs. Had to keep her breathing slow and waste precious energy on forcing air through Cerridwen’s hand. Her head swam, but Mor didn’t care. Cerridwen would never let anything bad happen to her, and as a wraith she was uniquely qualified to judge the safety of their little game.

The fingers between her legs were like fire. They stroked and teased- challenging her control. Every time Mor thought she could ignore Cerridwen’s ministrations the angle would shift and bring a new wave of raw pleasure to force her heartrate up. 

Cerridwen listened to the slick sounds her fingers made as she thrust in and out of Mor’s entrance and smiled. Mor was too wet after devouring her lover’s needy core. She couldn’t hold out as long as Cerridwen had.

The half-wraith twisted her grip on Mor. She managed to spin her and force her back to the bedroom wall without her fingers ever leaving Mor’s body. The golden one’s legs were too weak to hold her, so she hit the wall a bit hard as the hand around her throat tightened further. The fingers inside were able to reach deeper, until they brushed against a spongy ridge of skin that almost wiped Mor out entirely.

She managed to moan through her gasps for oxygen as Cerridwen concentrated on that ridge. Mor’s breathing became rapid and shallow as her entire body stiffened. Her head was swimming, but when she tore away the black lace panties and reached up to grab the hand around her throat it was not to pull Cerridwen back, but push her harder.

Thankfully the part that Cerridwen liked least of this game was also fairly quick.

Mor’s mouth parted as she tried to gasp for air. Cerridwen felt her walls begin to shudder and clamp down on her fingers and stroked harder, faster. Mor’s eyes rolled up into her head as her arms and legs shook with the force of her orgasm. She came violently on Cerridwen’s hand and with a spray of arousal few enough females were capable of. 

Her entire body lurched as she let out one more silent scream, then everything suddenly went loose. 

Cerridwen released Mor’s throat immediately and in a flash had her on the bed. She coughed and choked down precious oxygen as her hips pulsed with phantom bolts of pleasure. The world began to settle around her as air made its way into her lungs. She was dizzy and half-conscious yet deliriously happy. 

It took a long time for Mor to come back from such a rough orgasm, so Cerridwen leaned over Mor and took the peak of a breast in her mouth. She sucked at the thin skin and massaged a hard nipple with her tongue. Cerridwen’s grabbed Mor’s free breast and squeezed hard.

Mor barely noticed the attention being lavished on her chest. Her throat burned with every swallow and as the bolts of pleasure faded away she felt… raw. Mor managed to reach up and stroke the back of Cerridwen’s head, but it was going to take her some time to recharge. 

The most Mor could give her lover was a knee slightly raised off the bed. Cerridwen paused her worship of the golden female’s breasts to eye the offering. She maneuvered to straddle her and returned to her feast.

Mor shifted her leg slowly, gently. She reached down with a hand and parted Cerridwen’s folds. The half-wraith settled against her more fully, her knot rubbing against the offered leg. A soft moan escaped her lips.

Cerridwen never allowed herself more than a soft touch from Mor’s knee. She woke her body, but kept the fire burning low. No move was made towards Mor’s mouth for the kiss she was craving. Her love needed a chance to catch her breath, find herself, and heal her throat before bruising set in. 

After almost ten minutes of playing, Cerridwen finally caught a whiff of citrus in the air. She smiled and released Mor’s breast, “Welcome back.”

Mor forced a laugh and winced only slightly. She was always lost in a fog after being choked, and the healing magic Cerridwen scented was a sign that her mind was clear again. Mor tugged at Cerridwen’s head, pulling her up for a deep, hard kiss.

Cerridwen settled against Mor’s thigh- offering her own in the process. Mor moved beneath her with a bit more purpose and dexterity than her knee had. Cerridwen was hot against her leg, ready for more. The golden one needed to play catch-up.

The rhythm set by lip and tongue was not particularly fast. Their hunger had been spent on the first round of their game, now it was time for a more sensual passion. Every stroke was met with another. They parted for a breath and came back together as soon as possible.

A different kind of dizziness settled over Mor. This one was gentle, soft- not the kind that came from lack of oxygen. It wrapped both of them in its embrace and held tight. 

At some point, they stopped moving against one another.

Eventually each noticed a single hand had wandered down to the other’s sex. Cerridwen smiled against Mor’s lips as she slid her fingers into her lover. At the same time she rolled her hips to accommodate the digits entering her core.

Simple. Intimate. This was what Cerridwen craved the moment she woke with Mor in her bed. Not fucking Mor (though she didn’t regret beginning that way), but making love. Giving Mor pleasure for no reason other than to hear her softly moaning. 

“Marry me,” Cerridwen whispered between kisses.

She froze solid in an instant.

Mor’s eyes opened as Cerridwen stilled. The half-wraith stopped breathing, stopped moving. Her dark skin turned slate-gray as she paled.

She hadn’t meant to propose. 

Not like this, at least. 

One second Cerridwen was thinking about how deep her feelings for Mor ran, how perfect her lover was, and the moment her guard was down her thoughts tumbled from her lips.

Mor let Cerridwen pull away and hurriedly sit up. “I’m sorry-” the wraith said quickly. “I didn’t mean- it wasn’t-”

They were fine the way they were. Cerridwen had no problems with their arrangement. She and Mor had never spoken of marriage before, she had no idea what Mor’s feelings were on the matter. She’d humiliated herself, put Mor on the spot, and ruined a perfectly good night.

Mor’s face was a mask as she tried to read Cerridwen’s. She took the hand from inside Cerridwen’s body and wiped it on the blankets. Mor never looked away from Cerridwen’s fearful, tear-rimmed eyes as she brought the hand to rest between her own breasts. There was a puff of black smoke when Mor moved the hand away again and grasped Cerridwen’s thigh.

Where she’d touched, a blue velvet box sat.

“Open it,” Mor said softly.

Cerridwen didn’t want to move.

Didn’t want to think.

Mor nodded, comforting her.

A shaking hand reached for the box, and Cerridwen tipped the lid open.

Inside was a white-gold ring. Two veins of diamond- one black, one white- intertwined on either side of a large emerald-cut black stone.

Tears slipped down Cerridwen’s cheeks. She hurried to rise over Mor and reach for the bedside table. In the top drawer was  _ her _ blue-velvet box. She set it beside Mor’s and opened the lid fast enough that Mor half expected it to be hot.

The same ring in gleaming yellow gold.

“I bought mine three weeks after we started seeing each other,” a smug, satisfied grin spread across Mor’s face. She tucked her arms behind her head and raised an eyebrow.

“I-I bought mine after we celebrated six months,” Cerridwen was still terrified. Her heart wanted to burst with happiness, but her head reminded it that no proposals had been accepted yet.

Mor’s grin grew, and for a moment she looked disturbingly like her cousin, “So then, I loved you first.”

“I’ll love you longer,” Cerridwen whispered. Her treacherous mouth getting ahead of her again.

“So then, is that a yes?”

“You didn’t ask me anything,” her heart was racing faster than a wraith’s heart had any right to.

“Alright then.”

Cerridwen waited for her to say something else, but she just looked… expectant. As if Cerridwen was supposed to speak, “That- that wasn’t a question.”

Mor nodded, “You’re right. It wasn’t.”

“Then-”

“It was an answer.”

Cerridwen’s world stopped spinning.

Or maybe it was spinning too quickly.

Or maybe she’d fallen off it entirely.

“W- what?”

“ _ Alright then, _ since you asked so nicely, I will marry you.” Mor quickly raised a finger, “But I have one condition.”

Cerridwen still wasn’t entirely sure she believed her ears, “Anything.”

“I’ll only agree to marry you if  _ you _ agree to marry  _ me _ ,” Mor prodded the box with the white-gold ring. “What do you say?”

The world started spinning again. Cerridwen launched herself at Mor, taking her lover- her  _ fiancée _ _ 's _ \- head between her hands and holding her tight as she kissed her. 

Mor squealed as the boxes tumbled off her chest. She laughed against Cerridwen’s lips and pushed her back, breaking contact, “So that’s a yes?”

“Yes,” tears slipped down Cerridwen’s cheek.

Mor found the box with Cerridwen’s ring beside her right cheek. She pulled it out and took the wraith’s hand to slide it onto her finger. Cerridwen quickly picked up the twin box from under Mor’s armpit. It fit perfectly, the size guaranteed thanks to a piece of costume jewelry Cerridwen had found on her floor after a liaison so long ago. 

“I love you,” Cerridwen dipped back down to kiss Mor, this time without the reckless desperation. 

“I love you too,” Mor brushed aside her wraith’s hair and smiled warmly up at her. 

A hint of blush lit Cerridwen’s cheeks and she coughed, “I really didn’t plan on proposing to you like this…”

“While we had sex, or after you choked me out?” Mor said.

Cerridwen winced, “Can we leave that part out of the story if anyone asks?”

Mor considered it before nodding, “Absolutely not. That’s what we lead with.”

“I take back my proposal.”

“Fine,” Mor shrugged. “It doesn’t change anything.”

“You accepted my proposal first, it was the one that engaged us.”

Mor shook her head, “No, I accepted on the  _ provision _ that you first accept mine. Mine is the binding one. You just piggy-backed.”

“I proposed first!”

“And then accepted mine instead,” Mor shrugged again. “I don’t make the rules, I just call it how it is.” Cerridwen was about to protest when the golden one raised a hand, “How about a compromise?”

The wraith’s eyes narrowed as she read Mor, searching for the trap, “What?”

“I get to tell Rhys and Feyre. Not about the choking- just that we’re engaged.”

Cerridwen settled back to sit on Mor’s legs as she considered it, “Nothing about the sex  _ at all _ .”

“On my honor as a fae, nothing about the sex,” Mor put a hand over her heart.

Fae promises were a dangerous thing, but Cerridwen couldn’t find fault with the simple little deal. She nodded, “Agreed.”

The fault should have been more obvious than it was, but the second Mor closed her eyes Cerridwen saw the error of her ways.

“NO! NOT RIGHT NOW-”

Silver and ruby fireworks exploded over Velaris. Cerridwen covered her face with her hand- her ring hand.

“Don’t worry,” Mor smiled innocently. “Nuala is with them down in the mortal lands. They won’t tell her, so you can still do that one.”

“Thank you for your discretion,” Cerridwen jumped as another volley of fireworks erupted over the city. “I just signed up for a lifetime of this…”

“An eternity of it,” Mor took both of Cerridwen’s hands in hers, lacing their fingers together. She tugged, and Cerridwen let herself be pulled down into a kiss, “Regretting it already?”

Cerridwen pretended to consider the question long enough that Mor let out a squeak of indignation. 

The wraith laughed at last, a bright, beautiful sound, “Never.”

Mor kissed Cerridwen again, smiling brightly. She spun her legs, prompting her wraith to switch places with her in the bed so that it was Mor who sat upright, straddling Cerridwen’s hips. 

An expectant light shone in her eyes and Cerridwen barked a laugh, “Are you serious?”

“Celebration sex. You can’t refuse- we only accidentally get engaged once.”

“Can I ask a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“How many major life decisions do you make because you’re horny?”

Mor grinned, “Most of them.”

“Well as long as you’re aware,” she sat up in bed and wrapped her arms around her love. A pulse shot through them both at the next explosion of red outside- one that had nothing to do with the sound.

In the deepest, darkest corner of Cerridwen’s soul, a light sparked.

At the core of Mor’s very being, its twin ignited.

“About damn time,” Mor whispered.

She and Cerridwen let the mating bond wrap them both in a web of light, love, and life. They held one another tight and spent the rest of the night laughing, bickering, teasing, and making love until the first kiss of dawn touched the far horizon.

It wasn’t the first time they fell asleep in one another’s arms, but somehow it felt… different. New.

Cerridwen smiled as she drifted towards unconsciousness with her mate- and one day soon her wife- wrapped tightly in her arms.


End file.
